


Saying Goodbye

by BlessedDawn



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Demons, M/M, Sad, Sad Ending, awkward man hugs, brief mention of rommath, not canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-06-07 20:38:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6823114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlessedDawn/pseuds/BlessedDawn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lor'themar had always known that this time would come, where he'd make a mistake that would cost him his people. Guilt-ridden, the elf makes a decision he had been preparing for since the moment he became Regent Lord: self-sacrifice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Saying Goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is my first post here on archiveofourown, and I'm very excited to be posting it. I love my elves, but you have to be mean to them every once in a while, don't you?
> 
> This work was partially inspired (at least the whole thing with the demons attacking) by 'the greatness of a man's power' by alternatedoom. It's E-rated, so watch out for that, but definitely check that author out, they're pretty neat. This fic would have been a romantic fic, but because I wrote it for a competition in my guild, I kept it to brotherly love. I think you can see the erotic subtext though, if you have enough imagination and determination.
> 
> Enough from me: please enjoy!

This was the end. He knew it.

Outside, when the demons came, elves were slaughtered before his eyes. He defended whoever he could, called them to the Spire. Heads rolled, limbs flew before his eyes, and blood splattered his features as they were slowly pushed back, given no choice but to shut themselves up in the Spire, leaving whoever couldn’t make it to face their deaths.

Lor’themar never wanted to make that decision.

But when faced with two choices - to let all of his people die, or just a portion - he knew which option he would rather take. And he would spill enough blood to avenge every elf that would die from his actions.

They were trapped in here now, the doors forced closed in hopes of stopping the flow of demons, reduced now to an occasional few. But now, with their defenses weakened, it was only a matter of time before they were broken open. The steady pounding on the Spire’s entrance made Lor’themar sick to his stomach, unsure of whether it was the enemy or his elves asking for entry.

Screams echoed from outside. The screams of his people.

Blood splattered the floors like rose petals. Bodies lay broken, some dead and others barely breathing, scattered through the halls as menders tried desperately to save those that still lived.

The elf’s ears perked at the swish of a cloak, and steady footsteps approaching. He turned, his one eye squinting towards a familiar figure, Halduron Brightwing. Anger flashed on scarred features.

“You should not have come here, Halduron,” Lor’themar warned, wiping blood from his cheek with a gloved hand. His other hand went limp, blade pointed towards the ground.

The Ranger General only perked a brow in response. “We fight a losing battle outside, Regent Lord, and there is little time left before leaving is not an option.”

Lor’themar turned away from Halduron, closing his hands around the bannister of the balcony on which he stood, blinking down at the menders below. Many elves wept in the halls, cradling features of the injured or the dead and clenching their fists. Part of him wanted to turn away, but the other half forced him to watch, to see what he’d done.

“I will not leave,” he said eventually.

Soft steps sounded louder as Halduron came to stand at his side. Mages began to appear then with the soft flicker of arcane in the air, calling to his people and bringing elves out of the spire, taking them to safety away from their lands. The screaming continued outside however, a constant reminder of the Regent Lord’s mistakes. “You will lose your life here. Grand Magister Rommath awaits us in Orgrimmar, he has requested-”

“Rommath is but a coward in this moment - he should be _here_ aiding our people!” Lor’themar twisted to glare at Halduron with his good eye. “The moment these doors open, I shall fight here, and you shall be gone.”

Verdant eyes darkened, and Halduron shook his head. “We don’t need to shed more blood than we have, you know as much. You’re being a _fool_ ,” he argued.

“This is my fate, Halduron. Leave me here, and save yourself, and our people. And that’s an order.” As Lor’themar turned and made to depart, a hand grasped at his wrist. He paused, drew in a sharp breath, and then deflated; turned to face Halduron with a softened expression. “You cannot change my fate, change my path. Our people will be safer this way.”

Halduron turned his gaze away, defeated. “I know nothing I can say will stop you, but your death would tear many elves apart. And after all we’ve been through, Lor’themar-”

“We cannot save each other every time,” Lor’themar said with a sad smile, reaching to clasp Halduron’s shoulder. “You have served me well, brother. You have been more loyal and dutiful to me than any elf I’ve ever known, and I thank you for that.”

The screams grew louder outside, the doors began to open. Elves gathered in a futile attempt to block the entryway off and seal the gap, thrusting blades and throwing magic out towards the demons crawling inside. Both elves snapped their gaze towards the scene, though Lor’themar shook the other elf by the shoulders, brought his focus back to him. Their goodbye would have to be now - before it was too late.

“Lor’themar, I will never forget you,” he said, eyes rising to meet Lor’themar’s single orb. The Regent Lord only smiled.

“I know.” And then he stepped closer, enveloped Halduron into his arms in an embrace that spoke all the words he could never say. The time they spent with their arms wrapped around each other felt like an eternity, though the moment they pulled apart, still connected by Lor’themar’s hands at Halduron’s elbows, it seemed like but a heartbeat instead. Both elves’ cheeks were damp with tears.

“Die a hero,” Halduron whispered, voice near-breaking as he raised his hand to squeeze the Regent Lord’s forearm. “Let us tell the story of our Regent Lord for years to come.”

Lor’themar inclined his head then, drawing back from Halduron, urgent to join his people in combat as the doors swung open and elves and demons met in a flurry of swords, claws and magic. “And let my sacrifice not be in vain. Until next we meet, Halduron.”

“Until then,” the Ranger General said, giving his friend a lasting look, and then Lor’themar was gone, footfalls carrying him to his people, his last breaths.

Halduron took a deep breath to steady himself, shot a flurry of arrows into the crowd, and called out, “For Silvermoon! For the Sin’dorei!”

And then he left, teleported away to await the slow trickle of living elves into the orcish city, though no elf mattered as much to him as Lor’themar, soon to be carried back home to the life of a ranger and the lush greens of the forest, the place where Halduron knew he always belonged.


End file.
